


Pins and Needles

by shirogiku



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Shaitanah's plot bunny: "Cutler has invented Hal and his vampirism and is really a human who suffers from delusions and hallucinations."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pins and Needles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaitanah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/gifts).



> Disclaimer: _Being Human_ belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.

He staggered and fell to the tiled floor, staring at his hands numbly. He had tried to kill the War Child. He had tried to kill the War Child and failed.

The bandages were soaked with a sort of a gooey substance - the sight made him dry-heave, his stomach cold and empty.

Rachel offered him some water.

“If he doesn't exist, then what am I?” Cutler shouted at her, outraged, helpless.

Her answering look was filled with unspeakable pity. She took a few cautious steps towards him and reached out, smoothing her hand over his messy hair. “You have been terribly ill, darling. The doctors-”

“Sod that!” Nick crawled away. He could never stand _pity_. Anything but that. “Get the hell away from me! Oh, no, _this_ is hell, isn't it? I'm dead and this is my hell!” It was just the kind of sick torture that Hal might have devised for him. “Why isn't _he_ here? He deserves it a lot more than I do!”

Smiling apologetically, almost in embarrassment, Rachel stepped aside for the orderlies to pass.

* * *

No dreams, too damned many sedatives.

* * *

'Stir-crazy' wasn't actually the name of a cocktail.

* * *

Sometimes, he was ushered out to attend ‘group therapy’. It might actually help if only _someone_ could tell him something useful about Hal.

People who had never met his maker, they had to be the lucky ones. No, he was. They were simply insane and insanely boring.

In the corridor, he brushed past Tom, who was scrubbing the floor vigorously.

“Shouldn't you be angry at me?” Tom had always been a bit on the simpler side of things, but...

Tom frowned in confusion. “‘bout what?”

* * *

Sometimes Cutler saw Fergus, making the rounds at night. Fergus would ask, “So how’s the weather in Cuckooland?”

And Nick would reply sullenly, “Why do you get to be a guard?”

Fergus’s barking laughter. “”case I'm not a psycho, dipshit.”

One good thing about being a lunatic: the guards weren't allowed to hit you. “Yeah, you’re just a common wanker with the brain the size of a peanut who couldn't get a better job.”

* * *

Group therapy, counterproductive. Sessions with a shrink, every different shade of hysterical.

“You’re disgusting,” Nick said, carefully enunciating every syllable. “ I'm so fucking happy you’re dead too.”

Mr Snow readjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and scribbled something in his notepad.

“So what have I got, Doc?” Cutler grinned cheekily. ”Delusions, paranoia, psychosis? I'm a high-functioning vampire, do your research! Hey, I’ve got a new one for you - I'm Sherlock Bloody Holmes himself! Let me just deduce you-”

He snatched Snow’s glasses away and snapped them in two and at some points the nurses came in.

* * *

The hours were long and tedious. All Cutler seemed to do was wait and mindlessly watch TV.

They stopped playing scrabble with him because he kept spelling Hal’s name over and over. The only words he seemed to remember, except ‘Brazil’.

They stopped letting him into the dining room after he’d tried to feed.

* * *

Rachel’s visits were supposed to be the highlight of his day.

Cutler begged to differ. “Why wouldn't you just give me a bloody mirror? It would prove everything once and for all!”  
Rachel sighed. “Your burns...”

“Would have healed already if you’d only let me drink some blood!” Cutler yelled. “What am I, a three-year-old, to feed me hot milk and toast?”

Cutler took a deep breath -he didn't need to breathe, he only chose to. “Look, Rach-”

She glanced at him hopefully.

“-could you please at least let me borrow your phone? I need to check my Twitter account.”

Rachel gave him a look.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t know what Twitter is! Ha!” Cutler rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We could get rich-”

Rachel cut him off, “I know what Twitter is, thank you very much, so please don’t go off on a tangent about how Zuckerberg only got lucky.”

Cutler shrugged a shoulder. “Well, it was worth a try. So?” He stared at her imploringly.

Rachel sighed and handed him her phone. “I don’t think it has internet access, though.”

Cutler snorted and said in a condescending tone, “That’s because you haven’t figured out how to use it. Women.”

Rachel almost smiled at that.

It was a sturdily built, dumber-than-bread Nokia - a far cry from Cutler’s smartphone - but it did have a primitive 1.0 Megapixel camera. Rachel probably hadn't even realised its existence, judging by the empty photo gallery. Twitter could wait.

As soon as Rachel’s inquisitive eyes stopped boring into him, Cutler snapped a shot and turned the phone around to have a look.

Rachel gasped. “What are you doing, Nick?” She snatched the device out of his hands before he could see anything.

“That’s not fair!” Cutler leaned towards her, sputtering. “I have the right to know the truth, don’t I? Especially after all those months stuck in this hellhole!”

Rachel shook her head gently and lay her hand on top of Cutler’s. “Does your face hurt much?”

Cutler muttered dejectedly, “What does it matter.” He jerked away from her. “ You've done nothing to help me.”

“How could you say that?” She sounded hurt rather than angry. That was a bad sign. “Is it me? Is it because of me that you had to hide yourself behind those delusions?”

Cutler blinked at her. “I don’t quite follow.”

“You've been awfully quick to kill me off,” Rachel said quietly.

“I'm sorry about the wedding ring.” Cutler’s tone sounded earnest in his ears. “It’s just Hal...”

* * *

Hal, Hal, Hal, hell, help.

Make it big, make Hal proud, make history, make them see reason, make, make, make, faire, se fair, you’re doing it wrong, Cutler, your accent is atrocious.

* * *

Cutler decided to overdose on his medication. He’d seen something like that in Girl, Interrupted. He would have been Winona Ryder to Hal’s Angelina Jolie. If they had been hot chicks.

Slowly, slowly, he’d accumulated enough pills to think it might just be enough. He couldn't die twice, could he?

He propped the chair against the door and swallowed the pills.

It had almost worked, like his every other good ideas. If only they’d found him a mite later.

They resuscitated him, of course.

Drifting somewhere in between hell and oblivion, Cutler finally got his appointment with the devil. About bloody time.

Hal strolled over to Cutler’s bed and brushed his thumb over the IV-line before applying pressure on the needle. It sank deeper into Cutler’s vein as Cutler thrashed against the restraints.

“Use your fucking teeth,” Cutler growled. “Or have you misplaced them again?”

Cutler saw him clearly even in the sparse moonlight: Hal from the 2012, with the messy haircut and the muscles, save for the eyes - that look Cutler knew all too well.

Hal smiled and backhanded him across the face. Cutler’s teeth tore through his lip where he bit into it.

With a start, Cutler realised his skin wasn't burnt anymore. He would have hated for Hal to see him in that over-cooked state.

“Does that answer your question, Cutler?” Hal leaned into him and licked off the blood.

Cutler tilted his head, trying to gnaw at Hal’s mouth, and Hal pulled away teasingly, just out of Cutler’s reach.

Cutler clenched his fists. Hal peeled away the bed sheet, producing another large needle and sticking it into Cutler’s thigh.

Cutler did cry out this time and then muttered breathlessly, “What, now you’re a sodding acupuncturist? Fix the crick in my back while you’re at it.”

Hal forced Cutler’s mouth open and dragged the next needle over Cutler’s tongue.

Cutler forced out, “Bloody huge sewing kit.” His skin prickled with goose bumps from the chilly air and Hal’s presence.

Hal smiled. “Now there’s a fitting punishment for liars.”

“Then start from your own damned mouth, Yorke!” Cutler shouted.

Hal’s eyes glinted and he pushed the needle through his lip.

Cutler’s eyes widened. “What the fuck are you doing, Hal? Stop that!”

“You’re hard to please these days.” The needle disappeared into Hal’s sleeve and he pushed Cutler’s thighs apart. “ I'm going to give you a choice, Cutler.”

“Really now.” Cutler snorted. “That’s so sweet I might puke.”

Hal sank his teeth into Cutler’s inner thigh, ripping a moan out of Cutler’s throat and making Cutler’s cock twitch to life.

Hal murmured, “You may ask me one question and I will answer you truthfully or...” Hal took Cutler into his mouth briefly to illustrate the other option before pulling away expectantly.

Cutler shuddered. “You’re a complete bastard, aren't you?”

Hal quirked an eyebrow. “Was that your question?”

Cutler cursed again. “No.” His sex-starved brain wouldn't cooperate, myriad questions chasing one after another and crashing spectacularly.

Hal swirled his tongue over the bite marks. “ I'm waiting, Cutler.”

Cutler thought he might be on fire again. Maybe he’ never stopped burning.

“What am I?” Cutler demanded. “You owe me that much!”

Hal gave him a patronising, somewhat disappointed look.

Cutler blabbered hastily, “Wait, I changed my mind-”

Hal closed his hand over Cutler’s mouth and nose. “You’re a pathetic, selfish, needy, obsessive and overambitious little boy playing at being a man.” He drove each word in like more of those needles.

Cutler struggled with his entire body. He couldn't breathe. Was that the key? How on earth hadn't he thought about that earlier?

He felt faint, his lungs screaming for air, the pressure inside his head growing unbearable. That was nothing. He wasn't passing out.

Cutler glanced at Hal, dark spots clouding his vision.

“No such thing as vampires, Nick.” Hal's hand withdrew only when Cutler was about to pass out.

Cutler coughed. “Then what are you?”

Hal chuckled darkly. “One question.” He kissed Cutler’s sweaty brow. ”At a time.”

* * *

Plotting an escape attempt. Helped pass the time between Hal’s visits.


End file.
